Never Again

by Heather Starsong

  I gave up struggling then, immobilized by terror, eyes fixed on the stars over the valley. Cold sank into me. After a long time I tried again. No response to the desperate signals I sent my frozen body. Think, I told myself fiercely. I’m still alive. I’m not completely paralyzed. I can breathe. My heart is still beating.

  As if summoned by my thought, my heart began to race, faster and faster until everything went dark.

  The stars had moved again the next time I opened my eyes. The stars move, I thought. The night passes. Morning will come with sun to warm me.

  Will I live until then? The question cleared my mind. I have been struck by lightning and paralyzed. I have no idea what other damage may have been done. No one knows where I am. There will be no rescue.

  I am cold. I think—yes, I’m soaked. It was raining hard. I can’t move to warm myself. Fear, grief, longing surged up, twisted and thrashed in my immobile body. I’m not ready. Not done. There’s something else I must do.

  Is there? Already too many memories. No! I don’t want to die yet.

  Panic silenced all. When I could breathe again, grief came. Will I really die? Leave this dear old body that has served me so well? Never dance again? Never see my family again? My children—Lisa so far away, Greg, Robin, my grandchildren. Never hold little Colin in my lap again?

  Must I leave this beautiful earth? Never watch the sun rise again and feel its first warmth on my face? Delight in the ripple of wind in aspen leaves? Never feel tundra under my bare feet again?

  Never again.

  Sobs tore through me, shaking me, but still my arms and legs lay numb and heavy on the side of the boulder. I wept until I had no breath left. Cold pressed into me. Deathly cold. My heart hammered, raced, stopped, hammered, ached, raced.

  Darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Warmth touched me. Consciousness quivered up from dark, frigid depths.

  Clara. A voice sang my name.

  Never had I heard such a voice. Rich with overtones, it created a symphony in two syllables. My eyes flew open. It was still night. The stars had not moved.

  Clara.

  The music of my name came again, but I did not hear it with my ears. The night was silent. Somehow, my name sang inside me. Warmth penetrated me. I wanted to weep with relief, but I was still frozen.

  A hand touched my brow, delicately, lightly. Heat poured through the fingers, making tunnels of light in the fierce, black headache.

  Then I heard other voices singing within me, each voice a little different. Unearthly harmony, like the music of the spheres, the stars dancing their vast circles in the depths of the universe. Their resonance was warmth in me, healing, life returning.

  A high, clear voice sang softly. We were almost too late.

  A deeper voice resonated within me. She still lives, but is very cold. Come on the other side of her.

  A curved shape blocked my view of the stars. Softness touched my face. More warmth flowed into me.

  Clara, can you hear us? It was the first voice.

  I struggled to breathe, to speak, and felt concern pour over me.

  No, no. Don’t try to speak that way. Just with your heart.

  My heart? My heart was still beating. It did an extra flip-flop to let me know, then took off in a dizzying flurry of beats that almost sent me into blackness again.

  She hears us, the higher voice sang. Its sweetness poured through me, melting the ice in my limbs.

  The deep voice. Don’t ask her to speak. Her heart is too weak.

  I slipped in and out of awareness. The music of their voices rippled in me, softening my cold paralysis.

  Clara. The first voice separated from their symphony. We’re going to take you up. The source of warmth bent over me, enfolding me with softness. Arms came under me and turned me. I looked up into deep, luminous eyes, the color shifting in them, blue, green, purple, like Sapphire Lake in the wind. Don’t be afraid. You are safe.

  The arms lifted me and folded me into a fetal position, folded me although moments before I had been splayed out on the cold rock, stiff as a dead starfish left behind by the tide. It seemed that more arms came around me, holding me close, securely. I felt the beating of a heart. We rose and kept on rising with smooth, effortless motion. My face was buried against the warmth of the one who carried me. The beings that accompanied us sang as we rose, but now I no longer heard words, only the unearthly beauty of their song.

  Still we rose. I became curious, turned in the arms that held me, and looked out. My stomach plunged. I was in the sky. Far below, the peaks tilted as if we flew over the curve of the Earth. The arms tightened around me and words emerged from the song. You are safe. We are almost there.

  Trembling, I turned away from the abyss and nestled deeper into the comforting arms. Then I realized I had moved. I held still a moment, not daring to believe it. A tentative message to my hand. My fingers wiggled. Relief! I slid my hand into the enfolding softness. Fur? Was it fur? But so fine. It felt as if it held an electric charge of warmth. Each hair shone with a delicate light. Wonder filled me. Have I died after all? No. I remembered the cold rock, the still night, the stars. I had been in my special place when these strange beings found me.

  Our motion ceased. We hovered, then moved again. We were inside something, away from the chill of the night. I kept my face buried in the soft fur.

  The song had stilled as we moved inside. Now the music had words again, and there were new voices, weaving with the three I knew. All were song, strange, haunting beauty.

  Does she live?

  She lives, but we must tend her quickly. She is deathly cold.

  Her heart is unstable.

  That’s for sure, I thought.

  A ripple of what seemed like the music of laughter spilled over me.

  She hears us. That is good.

  Lay her here, a bell-like voice sang.

  The arms moved to lay me down, and I clung, my fingers clutching at the warmth that had brought me back from death.

  Melody poured over me with the words, You are safe. Do not fear. We are here with you.

  Their song was love and beauty embracing me. How could I fear? I loosened my grip on the delicate fur and felt myself gently laid down on a surface so soft I felt nothing but warmth, blessed warmth. The last remnants of frozen paralysis slipped from my limbs. I wiggled my toes and wept.

  Ah! The song around me softened. Compassion enveloped me. A gentle hand touched my chest. My heart thumped, skipped, and settled. Slowly I opened my eyes and looked up into the luminous eyes of the one who had carried me and was still close beside me.

  You are safe, it sang to me, and I understood that safe meant loved.

  Turning my head slowly, I found myself in a dome-shaped room with large windows spaced around its arc, black night and stars beyond. Silvery light emanated from the curved walls. Five strange creatures floated around me. They were round, about five feet in diameter, covered with fine fur. It was silver, but iridescent, rippling with delicate color as they moved, each a little different. One was primarily blue, another pale pink, another purple, another golden. The one who was steadying my heart was silver touched with deep rose. They had no legs; they floated or hovered or rested lightly on the floor of the room, the soft surface they had laid me on. Arms emerged from the center of them, jointless, fluid, tapering at the ends into many-fingered hands. Many arms. No faces, only eyes. Such eyes! Wide set, slightly tilted up at the outer corners. Bottomless, sparkling, light filled, containing all the colors of sky and water.

  The silver-pink being picked up the edge of my sodden cloak. There’s water in her fur, it sang in its high, sweet voice. That makes her cold.

  It did. Though the music of their voices warmed me from within, and though my paralysis had melted, the wet clothes chilled me.

  All the beings seemed to speak at on
ce, a melodic weaving of concern. They seemed to communicate not only with their inner song, but with the movement of their fur. Many hands touched me, seeking, asking.

  That is not fur. Not part of her.

  See, she has none here. A gentle hand touched my cold bare foot.

  We must find how to warm her.

  I started to speak aloud, “I can take them off,” then stopped, appalled. On Earth I had often been told I had a lovely voice, but that same voice, breaking into the resonance of their weaving songs, seemed a raucous croak.

  No, no, the high, sweet voice sang inside me. That is too hard for you. Just speak to us with your heart.

  My heart pounded and ached. I think I have to use my mind, I thought to them.

  Mind? The song went up in question.

  The wet things are my clothes. When they are dry they warm me, but not when they are wet, I explained with my thought. I can take them off.

  Clothes? The word was strange to them. But they understood. Many hands lifted me and drew off my wet clothes. I lay naked on the soft, warm floor, my skin still cold, goosebumped.

  Do you have a blanket? I asked silently.

  Blanket? Another question.

  I sent them an image, and understood that they did not know of such a thing. Why should they with their radiant fur?

  There was a burst of singing, a flurry of hands moving, fur flying, hands weaving. So fast! In a moment I was lifted again and wrapped in a blanket woven of iridescent silver. It radiated the light of their fur and was warm, so warm.

  Rest now, the rose being sang to me. It laid a gentle hand on my chest. I will hold your heart.

  Sunlight pouring in the big windows woke me. Outside the sky was blue. At first I thought I was looking out my bedroom window, waking from a strange dream, then realized that my little house was surrounded by trees and there were no trees in my view. My entire body ached, but I could move. I turned my head and looked into the strange, mutable eyes of the silver-rose being who still sat beside me, its hand resting lightly over my heart.

  I closed my eyes. Fear rippled through me. It’s a dream, I told myself. You’re not quite awake yet. Open your eyes again. You’ll see the cottonwood with the sun shining in its leaves.

  Clara? The music of my name, unearthly.

  I stiffened, my eyes still closed. The long hike, the storm, the cold rock, the life-giving warmth, the flight through the night sky—one by one the images rose behind my closed lids. Then another image came, the tiny silver speck I had seen in the sky the day before. Knowing I would not see the cottonwood tree, I slowly opened my eyes again. The silver-rose being was still there, watching me, its hand still keeping my heart blessedly steady.

  It isn’t a dream. Or it is, and I can’t wake.

  Across the room a door opened into another room, a wall of switches, lights, objects that were clearly part of an instrument panel. The other four beings hovered in front of it.

  Realization came slowly. An instrument panel and outside nothing but sky. I was dying and have been rescued by these beings from another world. I must be inside the silver speck I saw above the peaks. There’s blue sky and sunlight outside, so we’re probably still in the Earth’s atmosphere. Not too far away. Not too far! My stomach turned as I remembered looking down on the tilting peaks the night before.

  I stirred and realized I was naked, covered only by the silver blanket. Vaguely I remembered the strange beings taking off my sodden clothes the night before. Clutching the blanket around me, I tried to sit. Pain shot through all my limbs, and I fell back, helpless.

  No, lie still, the silver-rose being sang within me. You are still wounded. It rested its hand over my heart again and quieted the beat that had begun to race with my effort.

  I lay under its hand, stiff with fear. It was all too strange. I was on a spaceship far, far from home. Wounded, I did not know how badly. And naked. Utterly vulnerable. Where were my clothes?

  The silver-rose being turned toward the instrument room, then back to me. A moment later the pale pink being floated over and laid my clothes beside me. I turned to touch them, my long denim skirt, my long-sleeved shirt, my cotton underpants, my gray cloak. They were dry and clean, neatly folded. My mind whirled. They had all been soaked. How could my heavy wool cloak be dry so soon?

  I rolled to my side, reaching for my skirt, struggled briefly, then gave up again, gasping in pain.

  Ah, both beings sang in concern and compassion. Let us help you. They lifted me with their many arms and dressed me gently, tenderly, then wrapped me in the silver blanket and laid me back on the warm, soft floor, my cloak beside me. All the while they sang, and their song vibrated through my tissues, easing the pain. Enfolded in their loving care, resonating with their song, I felt my body soften and my fear slip away.

  The pale pink one floated away, but the silver-rose one stayed beside me.

  I lay quiet, fingering the textures of my cloak and the silver blanket, the cloak’s rough, earthy wool; the silver blanket, silken-fine, radiant, unearthly. Gradually I slowed my breath. How sweet the air, imbued with a strange, fresh fragrance. It was visible, circling the room in blended rainbow colors. The colors entered me with each breath, liquid light, soothing, nourishing. With each breath, more of the pain slipped from my limbs.

  I turned again to the being beside me. It had been watching me, giving me time to find myself.

  You knew I wanted my clothes, I said to it, remembering to use my thought. You knew I was afraid.

  Yes. A single note.

  A quiver of fear ran through me again. What else do you know about me… everything?

  No. We do not know everything, only what you tell us now. We do not search you without your permission.

  What… Who are you?

  The being took its hand off my heart for a moment to touch its own heart, then laid its hand on my heart again.

  I am Kiria of Eliria. In no way can words on a page convey the melodic depth of that name as Kiria first sang it to me.

  Eliria? I asked.

  Home. Kiria sang then. The song whirled me through galaxies to a faraway planet circling a distant sun. It was a moist, verdant planet, entirely covered in trees, vines, flowers with shapes and colors utterly strange to me, woven through by streams and lakes. Round, iridescent beings in many colors floated amid the foliage, like large flowers themselves. Kiria’s song ached with longing for the faraway beauty of her home.

  My fear was totally gone now. I was lost in wonder. Why have you come so far? I asked.

  Hearing my thought, the other four beings floated out of the instrument room and gathered around me.

  We will tell you. And we ask your help. But first you must know our names.

  The pale pink one sang with the high, sweet voice. I am Lillilia of Eliria. It touched its heart and then mine.

  I am Merilea of Eliria. The purple one was the one with the deep voice. It also touched its heart and then laid its gentle hand beside the hands of Lillilia and Kiria.

  Tirini of Eliria, the golden one.

  Rosiri of Eliria, the blue one.

  Gathered around me, their hands on my heart, they sang me their story.

  The entire universe is held together by an energetic web that wraps and connects every sun, every planet, every asteroid. The web holds us all in balance. Each sun and each planet has its role to play in maintaining the balance. But for the last several millennia the planet Earth has become more and more discordant, so much that it has begun to twist the web.

  There are many intelligent beings on the planets of the universe. Even though we are far apart in different galaxies, we have learned to communicate along the energetic web lines and have formed a council. Each planet and each intelligent race of beings has its gifts. Our gifts are healing song and the ability to see into the nature of things, to find their essence.

/>   You must have other gifts, I thought to them, to build this ship that has carried you so far.

  We did not build the ship. Tirini’s green-gray eyes sparkled with flecks of gold. Our spaceships are gifts of the planet Akara. We have no metal on Eliria, nor do we have the kind of intelligence to create a spaceship. But once the Akarans have created it, we can know its form and how to operate it.

  They sang together again. We are all concerned about planet Earth. Over the years different planets have sent emissaries to Earth. They have taken on human form and attempted to shift the chaos into balance. Many have been killed by the Earthlings. Others have gotten caught in the tangle of discord and lost their way, forgotten where they came from, forgotten their ulada.

  Ulada? I questioned.

  The song of the Elirians paused. Their wide eyes met, creating an energetic web over me as I lay under their gentle hands. Then their song resumed.

  Your ulada is your life’s purpose, your destiny. It calls you to rise out of your planet and serve the balance. It can be very simple. An ulada on Eliria can be that one of us tend a certain tree so it holds its sound in the song of Eliria. Such an ulada may last only a short while, until the tree is strong. Or an ulada can be huge, like the one that calls us here.

  I shivered in awe. Why have you come? I asked again.

  To study humans. The emissaries of the other planets have not failed. As we circle your planet we can see those they have touched, like points of light in the darkness. But the emissaries, those who have lived to return to the council, say it is difficult for those humans to hold the light, entangled as they are in Earth’s discordance. Now the council has asked the Elirians to bring their gifts to Earth. Twenty-five of us have risen from Eliria, called to that ulada. We are in five spaceships over different parts of the Earth. We have just arrived.

  Their song ended and they sat silent around me. I thought of all the years I had joined with others fighting the destruction of our planet, its creatures and wild places—marching, protesting, collecting signatures, knocking on doors. Finally I had given up in despair as the power of greed-backed money and insane denial seemed to sweep away all our efforts. My grief for the lostness of humankind, the violence, the devastation, welled up in me.